


Mutiny is for Lovers

by GoodyearTheShippyCat



Category: Starfighter (Comic)
Genre: Almost Roleplay, Anal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkwardness, Carrying, Deimos Being Forward, Enthusiastic Consent, Ethos Touch The Butt, Ethos is Just Generally Horny for Team Equinox, Finally, First Time, Flustered Ethos Noises, Frottage, Gentleness, Getting Together, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Hugs, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Kissing, Lube, M/M, Making Out, Mutiny Aftermath, Not Canon Compliant, Not Quite Climbing Ethos Like a Shrub, Post-Battle, Using Appropriate Amounts of Lube, a hint of one-sided Ethos/Phobos, past Phobos/Cook, presumably
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-12
Updated: 2019-12-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21764329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoodyearTheShippyCat/pseuds/GoodyearTheShippyCat
Summary: After seeing Deimos in military police custody, rushing to his defense, and getting caught up in a takeover of the ship spearheaded by the Lead Navigator and Fighter, Ethos’ day takes an even more surprising turn.
Relationships: Deimos/Ethos (Starfighter)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 13





	Mutiny is for Lovers

**Author's Note:**

> The mutiny aftermath Deithos fic we all deserve. Or at least an attempt at it, written over more sessions than any one shot I’ve ever done before due to big irl changes and resultant lack of time… Also rather later than planned, for the same reasons.

Phobos was captivating. The way he alternately spat venom and stood observing the commanders with perfect poise. Or really, just the one wearing a white uniform, sitting in the same spot the haughty navigator had been in himself not an hour earlier.

Ethos wondered with no small amount of awe how Phobos could be so calm, not seeming in the least shaken, despite the fact that he’d been jailed for treason and stuck in a cell. His jacket still showed signs of being handled roughly by the guards, and a few strands of hair were out of place—not that Ethos would dare point it out. He didn’t plan to put himself in a position like that. Commander Cook probably deserved at least some of the jeering, though he felt a little guilty thinking it.

 _No, I’m not brave enough to put myself in the line of fire, metaphorical or literal_. _Not like Deimos,_ he thought, mind drawn back to the events which had just transpired.

The small fighter had leapt into action the second Bering had come through the doors to the brig, gun in hand. Ready to back up Cook, who had already been waiting when they’d arrived. Deimos had pushed Ethos against the bulkhead behind a support strut before crossing the distance to the commander with swift, agile grace. In a blur of movement he disarmed the older man, a fist glancing across his face for his trouble. But he’d given Praxis and Encke the time they needed to apprehend the older commander.

It had been the silent fighter captivating him until Phobos’ usual attention-grabbing... The fighter he was supposed to have been watching.

_Shit!_

Ethos whipped his head around, searching frantically for his charge.

Their rag-tag band of mutineers was splintering off. Phobos still gloated as he stood over Cook from the outside of the force field. Ethos’ own fighter and Porthos were watching the display, a blaster still held at the ready in Praxis’ hands. Encke and Keeler were conferring quietly in a corner. No doubt trying to come up with a plan for how they would take the ship home and handle the consequences of their impromptu takeover, which still hadn’t quite set in.

Ethos caught a shadow of motion by the exit—Deimos sneaking silently out the door.

“Oh!” he exclaimed before following. Not quite running, but striding swiftly so as not to lose sight of his target for long. “Hey, wait up!”

In the corridor outside, Deimos looked back over his shoulder briefly but kept walking. Ethos felt a mixture of annoyance and disappointment until he noticed that the fighter had slowed his pace. Instead of flitting about like a wisp of smoke, he was almost gently floating away.

The military police who had come around to their cause during the mutiny stood guard outside the door. Ethos could feel their eyes on him—watching to see what he’d do—creating a distinct sense of unease that sat heavy at the base of his neck. They’d never watched him in the past.

The whole atmosphere of the ship was different now—even more volatile. A powder keg full of trained fighters sailing through the stars, with anything capable of setting it off again. He hoped against hope that the Colterons wouldn’t send a retaliation force to take revenge for their destroyed shipyard.

_That’s the last thing we need._

Catching up to Deimos with a few hurried strides, they still hadn’t rounded the corner. Ethos was certain the eyes of the guards were still trained on them, which probably meant their ears were, too. He resumed the position he’d taken on their walk down to the brig, what seemed like days ago already, even though he knew it had only been a few hours, at most.

Placing his hand between Deimos’ shoulder blades, he figured, could just look like two close friends walking. Not necessarily someone under surveillance and the person tasked with watching them. He leaned in—probably cementing the appearance of close confidants—as he whispered in Deimos’ ear. It was convenient that Deimos was a similar height to him, maybe a scant few inches shorter, even. He couldn’t have leaned in to whisper in a fighter like Praxis’ ear. Not without making a production of it, at least.

“Uhh, I’m not sure if I’m still supposed to be watching you...” he said, realizing how very non-threatening he must sound.

The lack of threat was confirmed by the half-hearted shrug he felt more than saw Deimos give. Lithe muscles rippled over slender shoulders beneath his hand. Even though Deimos was smaller than him, Ethos was positive of the outcome if it were to come to a physical confrontation between them, and it was not in his favour.

His own “guard duty” was playacting. Only Deimos’ willing cooperation allowed it to continue. Ethos felt himself wince in embarrassment at the realization he should have come to sooner. Why had anyone asked him to watch a captive fighter in the first place? As if there was anything he could do other than call for help if Deimos had decided earlier that he was done with the whole affair.

They walked in silence for a few moments. The brig level and MP headquarters almost seemed to demand it. Especially now that a significant portion of the force was behind their own cell walls for dissenting over the change of ship command. It was only once the elevator doors shut behind them that Ethos breathed a sigh of relief. He realized he didn’t know what floor they were going to as his hand hovered over the panel. A rumble from his stomach made the decision.

“Are you hungry? It’s long past dinner time, now.”

No response from his charge.

“Or would you prefer it if I escorted you to your bunk instead?”

Deimos actually turned a little to look at him now; eyes just flashing through the fall of hair on that side of his face. The telltale smirk below, though, Ethos saw very clearly. He could feel his cheeks burn in response, realizing how that had sounded.

“O- oh! I didn’t mean... I meant...” he trailed off as Deimos turned back to stare directly at the brushed metal doors in front of them. Still looking vaguely amused, but letting Ethos stew in his awkwardness with no hope of rescue.

 _Silent elevator rides are already awkward enough,_ thought Ethos.

This one was going to be painfully interminable.

Ethos poked the button for the mess hall level, missing it the first time but quickly jamming his finger against the panel again.

 _Stupid injured hand_.

He knew full well that the bandages weren’t obstructing his fingers, but chose to ignore that fact for the sake of his pride.

They ate in a nearly empty mess hall. Everyone else was seemingly trying to keep things running smoothly in the wake of a huge upset in the command structure of the ship, or off celebrating their nearly flawless victory in battle. Ethos was just happy to find that one of his favourite dishes was on the menu today. The navigators’ mess vat extruded a creamy, cheesy mass of pasta casserole into his bowl. He used the smaller topping dispenser to bury it in crunchy bread crumbs, adding some much-desired texture.

“What have you got today?” asked Ethos as they set their trays on opposite sides of an empty table. “What kind of soup is that? It smells salty!”

He tried to make conversation a few times throughout the meal, but always fell silent again when the full weight of Deimos’ attention on him became too much. The heavy-lidded stare was unnerving, making him feel like he’d just been babbling stupidly. But each time, he eventually felt the brush of a pointy knee against his own. Or dared to shoot a glance across the table and saw Deimos’ face staring back at him, head cocked in apparent curiosity. So he’d pick up where he left off for a little while—each time he talked a little while longer before the silence eventually made him self-conscious again.

After they’d deposited their trays into the cleaning racks, Ethos began toward the exit. It was only when he realized that Deimos wasn’t following him that he turned around to see where his quiet companion had gotten to. The fighter was right there where he’d left him, standing completely still beside the automated dish washing system. The colonist was looking at him expectantly.

_Like in the hangar bay._

Not teasing, really. Closer to curious, or intrigued. But somehow making butterflies flit around his guts anyway. Unless that was the casserole. It was always hard to tell whether the food was going to sit well or not.

That stare—so similar to the one Deimos had given him earlier—tripped a switch in his brain, and Ethos remembered the duty Encke had assigned him, which he’d all but forgotten over lunch. It had felt too close to old times in the mess hall. Even if this time there had been no Abel around to help carry the conversation, and no Cain to interrupt it and distract Abel.

It had just been the part of the meal where he would try to make conversation with Deimos, never really getting a response beyond small changes in the other man’s facial expressions, or a shrug or nod now and again. The part of the meal which had quickly become his favourite. The silent fighter a puzzle to untangle on par with any scrambled Colteron transmissions he’d been assigned.

Ethos stepped into position slightly behind the small fighter, placing his hand between black-clad shoulder blades once again. It felt different this time, somehow. He shook his head and tried to dispel the notion; there was no reason for it to be any different than it had been the other two times that day.

“Uh, shall we head to the barracks, then?”

Deimos was so responsive under his touch; starting to move forward the moment Ethos’ foot left the ground for his first stride toward the lift.

This time, Ethos keyed in the barracks level that Deimos’ room was on, one below his own floor. He turned the right direction without even needing Deimos’ guidance as they entered the dimly-lit hallway. He knew where Phobos’ room was because he’d had to return a bottle of luxe hair conditioner to him once after the other navigator had left it in the communal showers following morning yoga class.

After turning the first corner—before they were even halfway to the room—Deimos sidestepped and stopped walking abruptly. Ethos didn’t react quickly enough and ran directly into him. The feeling of the fighter’s pert, firm ass pressing against his body made heat spike straight through him. From his loins right up to his cheeks, where it bloomed outward violently. He could tell that his face was probably bright red, and not helped by the fact that Deimos didn’t make to move. Ethos stepped back, apologizing as he looked around for what had made the other man come to such a sudden stop. There was nothing in the corridor. They were the only ones around.

“S- sorry,” he apologized a second time.

Deimos just made a small noise that sounded like a huff of frustration, but waited until Ethos had resumed their previous position before he began to walk again. As they entered an adjacent hallway, Ethos felt the way that Deimos was almost shimmying—the motions ever so slight—causing his hand to drop down. Then the fighter arched his spine a little, inclining it in a way that invited Ethos’ hand to slide even lower.

This definitely wasn’t just him. This _did_ feel different from before.

His fingers now rested in the small of the other man’s back, just above his hip level. He could feel as the fighter subtly altered his gait; the way his slim hips swayed side to side ever so slightly.

 _This really doesn’t seem appropriate_ , thought Ethos even as his hand moved lower, almost of its own volition, _Then again, Keeler did want me to keep an eye on him. Surely a hand is even better._

Ethos’ face burned hot as the Tiberius’ engine when he ran stress tests on the ship’s systems. His palm now rested on Deimos’ lower back, right at the start of the curve of his ass.

When they reached the door of the room and Deimos keyed in the entry code, Ethos disengaged. The small fighter looked sideways at him from beneath a shade of dark lashes as he walked into the room, beckoning Ethos to follow. He did, swallowing the anticipation in his dry throat.

He heard the door slide shut behind him on whisper-smooth tracks, only a tiny click letting them know it was closed and locked. The sound seemed to cue Deimos, who spun to face him again. He didn’t whirl around, but rather, did a very controlled pivot on one heel. His face, impassive as usual, seemed to hold new layers of information as Ethos beheld it. It looked like an invitation, with a hint of determination running beneath it.

Ethos tried to summon his own courage, but found he just wanted to wait and see what the other man would do. It was about time that Deimos initiated the conversation for once, after all.

He didn’t have to wait long.

In fluid, graceful motions, the other man seemed to glide towards him, stopping far closer than would normally be socially acceptable. The intensity of the fighter’s stare was too much in such proximity, and Ethos cast his gaze down. Not that staring at the lean line of the Deimos’ body shining in black flightsuit material next to his own white-clad form was much less intimidating.

They stood there for a long moment; breathing the same air, tension like static building in the space between them. Ethos chanced to let his hand find its now familiar position between Deimos’ shoulder blades. The point of contact took on a whole new character under the circumstances. It seemed to spur Deimos to action. The fighter’s arms wound their way around Ethos’ neck as he stepped even closer, their faces just inches apart.

Ethos nearly staggered when one of Deimos’ strong legs came up and hooked around his hips, but he planted his feet and let his second hand come up to the fighter’s waist to steady them.

The inky satin of Deimos’ hair brushed his cheek as the fighter leaned even closer and he heard the sharp inhalation next to his ear. Everything felt balanced on the point of a pin; tension peaking between their bodies, hovering close enough to touch if either of them were to take a deep breath. 

In that moment, before either of them moved to take things any further, Ethos felt an overwhelming need to protect the quiet man in his arms. It seemed a bit silly and he felt his cheeks heat once again.

 _I mean really, what could I do to protect a deadly, trained fighter like him,_ Ethos thought.

But even though it seemed illogical to him, it felt so real and urgent. His arms tightened around Deimos just a little bit.

The fighter gasped quietly enough that Ethos barely heard it over the hum of the ship. But he certainly felt the slope of the man’s nose burying itself into the side of his neck.

The quiet intimacy of the moment contrasted so sharply with the sexual charge that still lingered. It left Ethos unsure of how to proceed. He fought the urge to fidget by turning the grasp he had on Deimos into something closer to a proper hug, sliding a hand from just above the fighter’s hip to circle his back instead, pulling them chest to chest. 

“You were so incredible back there,” he mumbled into raven-dark hair. Tension ran through the man in his arms, then it was gone again, almost like a shudder. 

He dared to follow up his statement with the lightest of kisses, tilting his head to place his lips near the crown of Deimos’ head. The way Deimos immediately pulled back made his heart sink.

But only for a second. 

The shadow in front of him was still extremely close; the leg around his hips remained where it was. He could feel hot puffs of air against his chin. Could feel that static building between them again. Ready to discharge and shock them both at any moment. The gaze Deimos aimed up at him—half obscured by dark bangs—was breathtaking. Ethos couldn’t look away, but couldn’t do anything about it, either. Immobilized by those piercing, pale blue-grey eyes. 

After what seemed an interminable wait, Deimos gave an impatient huff and leaned close enough that Ethos couldn’t focus on his eyes at all any more. 

He focused instead on the feeling of unfamiliar lips up against his own. Soft at first, but pressing firmer when he responded in kind. He was captivated all over again. 

“Mmmm, Deimos…” 

He didn’t even get the chance to finish the thought before his mouth was captured once more. 

Finally, Ethos let his hand slide down from Deimos’ waist to rest on the ultimate temptation. He felt the flex of firm muscle in the buttock connected to the leg which held him willingly captive. He tested out a squeeze, and the way Deimos gasped into his mouth made him want to do it again.

So he did, but got something other than a gasp in response.

Ethos felt Deimos push off the ground with his remaining foot, and took a half step backwards himself to brace against the momentum as the fighter’s second leg clutched around his hips. For once he was glad of his stockier build, as he utilized all those muscles to keep the other man held aloft. He couldn’t picture many of the other navigators managing that, except maybe Porthos. The small fighter was deceptively heavy; muscle and sinew and bone.

Their bodies were plastered together now. That thrumming space between them closed; the electric charge of it becoming magnetized, holding them together as they kissed even more enthusiastically.

Ethos felt himself quickly getting lost in the intoxicating way Deimos’ mouth moved. The quick little brushes of his lips between longer entanglements with a clever tongue, doing things inside his mouth that made the already tight white flightsuit feel impossibly hot and confining. He could only hope he was reciprocating half as well, though the small moans he felt more than heard the other man make seemed promising.

“Which bunk is yours?” huffed Ethos.

 _Is that too forward?_ he wondered, incapable of landing on a clear answer. Too caught up in the feeling of the way the strong, slender line of Deimos’ body pressed along his front, leaving as little space between them as possible. Even the unbelievably thin material of their flightsuits felt like a heavy, clumsy barrier that needed to be removed.

His arms were also starting to get a little sore, but the sensation of Deimos’ ass cradled in his hands and the backs of his thighs resting on his forearms was so good. Ethos would have happily remained like that until his strength gave out completely. He’d long ago forgotten the pain in his injured hand. Now he was more annoyed by the bandages keeping him from closer contact than anything. 

Deimos drew his head back, separating their mouths, and Ethos almost wished he hadn’t asked.

 _I just want to keep kissing him. If only I didn’t need air anymore, we could just keep kissing. I really like kissing him_ , the clumsy thoughts piled on top of each other in his mind.

The fighter gestured with his chin at the upper bunk, and followed it up with a hoarse-sounding, “Top.” Then he leaned back in and Ethos nearly forgot which bed it was, unable to retain input beyond the sensory overload his lips and tongue were registering.

He stepped slow and methodical towards the bunks. Loathe to reach them because he knew it would mean temporary separation from the body of the man he was currently enjoying having absolutely no personal space with.

When they got close, Deimos wound his arms around the ladder, which took the strain off Ethos’ own arms. Yet at the same time, the lewd circles Deimos made with his hips almost caused Ethos to drop him in surprise. 

He completely forgot to be disappointed that they were no longer plastered up against each other.

_This might be even better._

Not only was the delicious friction driving him wild, but now he could get a good look at the man creating that friction. The lithe body stretched out in front of him, tightly encased in an oil slick of flightsuit that left nothing to the imagination. He could clearly see the answering arousal, the dark and mysterious counterpart to the throbbing bulge in his own white suit. He wanted to uncover that mystery, to learn every little thing about it.

He began by studying the reaction when he tentatively ran his good hand along the top of one slender thigh, then over the line of Deimos’ erection. The way the fighter threw his head back—exposing his neck, mouth slightly open as if sighing without sound—entranced Ethos. 

“Oh wow,” he whispered, awed by the sight, “You look amazing.”

He lifted his hand and stretched his arm out to caress the side of Deimos’ face which hadn’t taken the force of Bering’s fist earlier. He felt the sudden tightness of the man’s body, disconnecting them even as they remained physically touching. 

Deimos turned his face away, letting a sleek black curtain fall between them. 

Ethos paused, but didn’t let it deter him completely. He let his fingers trace the fighter’s jawline, then drop to rest on a collarbone obvious even through the shiny, dark fabric. He could feel a heartbeat hammering beneath his palm, quick and flighty as a small animal’s. He leaned forward slightly, his bandaged hand moving from the back of Deimos’ hip to find that same place between two sharp shoulder blades They were tense, straining with the effort of supporting his weight. And something more. The ripple of relaxation was nearly instantaneous, Deimos’ body going supple even as it retained the tone holding him up. Connecting them once again, so Ethos could feel the entirety of him through the points where they touched. 

His breath caught in his throat when he felt the roll of Deimos’ hips, rubbing that perfect little muscular ass up against his pelvis. The action reawakened a fire in him which had been momentarily dampened.

He leaned over more, stretching his neck to bring their mouths together again, letting his hands wander. One found the clasp at the neck of the fighter’s flight suit and fumbled it open, exposing smooth, dusky pale skin. He moved to kiss that instead, feeling quick breaths coming and going beneath his lips. His back quirked and he leaned back again, observing his handiwork as he did so.

The sight in front of him was its own reward; Deimos looked disheveled, collar hanging open in invitation to remove the remainder of the flight suit. 

“As, ahhh, as nice as this is.. uh, do you want to get in bed? It might be more comfortable.”

The quiet snort of amusement at this obviously absurd statement was unexpected. Of course, nothing about their thin bed rolls on hard metal bunks was comfortable, but Ethos giggled in response nonetheless. Deimos’ legs unhooked from around his waist and he watched as the fighter lowered himself back to the ground in a slow, controlled fashion. Watching Ethos watch him. 

Ethos swallowed, mouth suddenly feeling very dry. 

_I can’t believe this is happening._

All those times sitting at the lunch table circled his mind. All those hours spent wondering if there was any point in continuing to try engaging Deimos in conversation. Wondering if Cain was right, and he just wasn’t interested in talking.

Or just wasn’t interested in him. In navigators. In Earth-born guys.

All those times now seemed to directly lead to this moment, and the gorgeous sight he beheld. Deimos’ compact form spinning to face the ladder with one last glance at him. The muscular ass he’d just been enjoying the feel of, flexing right in front of his face, restarting his salivary glands. He followed Deimos’ lead. 

Ethos flexed the fingers of his bandaged hand, a little sore again from climbing the metal rungs. It was Deimos who shifted closer first, carefully running slender fingers over his hand, like a question. 

“Oh! No, don’t worry! It doesn’t hurt too much. Just a few cuts, nothing serious.”

The silent fighter nodded before leaning in. 

Ethos was confused when their lips didn’t meet and Deimos went instead for the skin above his eyebrow. A little spark of discomfort was what reminded him that he’d gotten a cut there, too. It seemed so long ago now, the battle already fading from his mind the way those sorts of things did.

 _Some kind of self-protective reflex in the mind?_ he wondered idly, _Forget things too intense to process?_

Deimos’ crawled into his lap, lips delicately touching each little cut on his face which hadn't needed bandaging. They’d already closed by the time the mission was over and the Tiberius was safely back on the deck of the hangar bay again. When he’d finished, Deimos finally returned to his mouth.

Ethos quickly found his train of thought derailed. Their kisses were languid. Hips grinding together so slowly it was torturous. 

Ethos’ hands found the edge of Deimos’ flight suit top. He worked his fingers beneath it, meeting warm, slightly damp skin. He began to push it upwards, wanting to see even more than the tantalizing snatch of Deimos’ chest exposed by his open collar. 

The fighter flinched as his hands moved fabric over the slight curve of ribcage. 

“Sorry! Did… did the guards, uh… I mean, did they rough you up earlier?”

The only response was a dismissive half-shrug. But he proceeded carefully after that, noting where the exploratory sweep of his fingers made the other man tense. Where the shadow of a bruise was coming in here or there. One in particular was quite obvious already. It took a few minutes for Ethos to realize what had caused the strange shape of the purple mottling on Deimos’ side; distracted as he was by the fighter rocking back and forth in his lap, kissing him more thoroughly than he’d been kissed in a fair while. It was the arched shape of a blaster muzzle, which must have been driven into Deimos’ side at a bit of an angle—probably held by someone a little taller—and with a decent amount of force.

“Are... are you sure you want to do this right now?” asked Ethos, fighting against his own desire to just shut up and get his tongue back in the other man’s mouth, “Because, um, I mean, we could go and get checked out properly in med bay.”

Deimos pulled back from where he had begun sucking a line of open-mouthed kisses down the side of his neck. The flat, disbelieving expression aimed back at him spoke volumes.

“Oh! Ah, not that I’m not enjoying this,” Ethos blabbed, flustered by the scrutiny in the fighter’s gaze, “Because, uh, I really, _really_ am.”

The inscrutable mask of Deimos’ face cracked; a little diagonal break at the now upturned corner of his lips. It spread and the mask shattered as the usually serious, silent colonist tittered quietly. The sound was more like quick, repeated exhalations than anything.

Ethos found the sight utterly fascinating. He simply observed the other man for a moment. Then felt a giggle work its way up from his own chest, crawling its way out of his chest. He brought his hands back to slender hips and surged up to kiss Deimos again. They soon forgot about anything outside the immediate vicinity of that narrow upper bunk. Everything that wasn’t the heat and friction of their bodies coming together as they stripped away the remaining pieces of their uniforms.

Their newly exposed, still tacky skin stuck and pulled against each other as they came back together. Ethos shivered in the cool air, feeling goosebumps spread over the bits of him not currently beneath the hot weight of Deimos, stretched out on top of him. He looked up into pale eyes and his breath caught as the fighter circled his hips again, dragging their cocks between them. The feel of slick trails of precome spreading on his stomach made Ethos grasp at Deimos’ ass—fortuitously, one of the spots on his body which didn’t seem to have any bruising from the guards or the spot of action they’d seen in the brig.

He held the other man in place, grinding up against him. Deimos gasped and clutched at his shoulders. 

After a long moment of enjoying the slide of their dicks against each other, Ethos gently pushed at Deimos’ side, urging him to roll over. Positioning himself between skinny but strong thighs, he leaned forward and braced himself on one forearm, hovering above the other man as he reached down. Lips just inches from each other, he admired the tiny moan which escaped the fighter as his hand closed around an unfamiliar length. 

He gave an experimental stroke, watching Deimos’ expression briefly shift to one of rapture. He felt fingers skitter over his back. Another stroke—firmer this time—got a breathy, barely there whine. Ethos picked up a slow, steady rhythm, closing the distance between them and chasing the small noises coming from the fighter with his own tongue. Lapping into that perfect little mouth, wondering why he’d never tried to do this sooner. 

So many lunches wasted, watching Abel and Cain flirt and fight and look like they were about to start fucking right there on the table.

 _We could have been sneaking off to have more fun, just the two of us,_ thought Ethos with a pang of regret, _If only I’d done something sooner._

His cock twitched and bobbed in the tiny bit of space between them, and he couldn’t take it any longer. He pushed himself upright again and brought Deimos’ erection toward his own, shifting his grip to get partway around both of them. 

Ethos let out a groan of pleasure at the sensation. Deimos merely threw his head back against the mattress and dug his fingers into the threadbare sheet. Ethos watched as the other man arched and sank, slowed the pace of his strokes as their eyes met again. Deimos’ hair was out of his face now in a way that Ethos had never seen before. It felt so strange to be able to see both big eyes and dark brows at once. To appreciate the fine bone structure normally obscured by hair, the sharp and sloping angles of his face. 

The only thing marring the sight was the evidence of Bering’s fist landing that punch. Ethos gently touched the spot on Deimos’ cheek where a bruise was welling up, a little swollen. 

Deimos clearly fought the urge to flinch, instead letting out a soft “Tch!”

But he allowed Ethos to lean in and kiss the purple flush over one puffy cheekbone, which set off the pinkish one riding high on the other side of his face. After a lingering kiss on the lips, he asked: 

“So, uh, what would you like to do now?”

Deimos had been so quiet, he felt like he needed to get some input. He got it almost immediately. 

The colonist quirked an eyebrow, then hooked both legs around his hips. Ethos was startled by the way Deimos pulled himself into his lap in one fluid motion. Shock quickly gave way to desire as he felt the man’s ass pressed against his dick. He bucked his hips a little and almost forgot he’d asked a question. 

“Ahh, yes. Okay. That sounds good. Really good. I’d like that,” he blurted out before looking around, “Uh… have you got lube somewhere?”

He watched as Deimos ran a hand beneath the edge of the mattress closest to the wall, producing a small bottle after some digging. Ethos took it, their fingers brushing, sending a shiver of anticipation up his spine. 

Uncapping it, he slicked the fingers of one hand and rubbed them against each other for a moment. Deimos shifted slightly, and despite a pang of loss when his cock could no longer remain pressed against the other man, Ethos brought his hand to the same place. He enjoyed the sight of the beautiful fighter; legs spread in front of him, stomach muscles jumping as his fingers brushed a trail from just below the man’s balls to right over his entrance. 

Rubbing the pad of his thumb slowly but firmly there—never venturing in, but giving the impression that he might with any stroke. He watched Deimos' breathing pick up, and brought a more slender finger down to meet his thumb, replacing it and breaching the first ring of now more relaxed muscle. He felt Deimos clench around him in little spasms and hoped he was doing all right with his non-dominant hand. He sank further inside, feeling the tight, muscular heat of the quiet fighter. Who was slightly less quiet than before as he began to press in and out of him. Little gasps of pleasure were intermingled amongst the shivers and spasms as Ethos continued his work, adding a second slippery finger after a few minutes.

He was afraid to talk, afraid to break the spell over them. The silence only punctuated by small noises from Deimos. It didn’t take long before those noises became more frequent and even a little louder. It was certainly the most he’d ever heard the other man vocalize. 

“Um, can I… Do you want…”

“ _Yes._ ”

The short, sharp syllable was hissed out in that quiet, rough voice. Commanding despite the desperation in the tone. 

“O- okay!”

Ethos didn’t waste time, pouring some more lube over his already sticky fingers and stroking his own cock. He groaned at the sensation, and in anticipation of the sensations yet to come. He wiped his hand on the sheet, uncaring. Wanting nothing more than to get back to touching Deimos. He grasped the other man’s hips, lifting them slightly as he shuffled closer. Clumsily butting the head of his cock up against Deimos’ entrance, it slid between the man’s buttocks, which were drawn tight, tensed to lift off the mattress. 

The small fighter was practically squirming in Ethos’ lap and it was a sight he never wanted to forget. He decided to make the most of it, slowly rocking back and forth, letting his length slip along the track formed by two muscled ass cheeks. It felt nice. Really nice.

Better yet, it was getting a reaction. 

Deimos was gripping at Ethos’ knees now, fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs as the fighter practically whimpered. He felt the hips he held pull down, trying to angle differently so as to catch him when he pushed back along the furrow of a well-formed posterior. 

“Ahh!” he couldn’t help exclaiming as he felt himself breach the other man, letting him win. 

_Really, it’s a win-win,_ he thought as he sank in, tight heat surrounding him. 

He paused a moment to collect himself before stroking a hand over Deimos’ flank.

“This good?”

An impatient look was all the question earned him as he began to slowly pull out, then sink in again as he watched Deimos’ eyes flutter shut. Everything was too hot, too slick, too much, too amazing. Ethos closed his own eyes in an attempt to keep control over himself.

 _I’d never live it down if I came in the first minute,_ he thought, mortified at the idea. _But it’s been too long since I got laid._

He did calculations in his head while he multitasked, focusing on running his hands along Deimos’ legs and keeping a steady rhythm. 

_I don’t remember integration by parts ever seeming this sexy before…_

The fighter squirmed beneath him, practically silent but making a surprising amount of eye contact. Ethos wasn’t sure why he had thought Deimos wouldn’t do that, but it was almost intimidating. Those big, grey-blue eyes focused intently on him, barely obscured by the usual fall of his hair. 

It was Ethos who found himself breaking eye contact, repeatedly. 

But he was drawn back for more each time, hearing a small gasp or cut off moan. Or feeling a tremor run through the other man’s body. He stared appreciatively at the compact, deadly fighter sprawled in front of him, legs twitching against his own. 

The fighter who stared back, still maintaining some semblance of his usual blank expression. But now Ethos noticed a new layer of information present. 

_It almost looks like he’s trying to decide on something._

“Wha- whoa! Nnnnnh…”

Surprise turned quickly to even more pleasure as Deimos pushed himself off the mattress and into Ethos’ lap; straddling him and taking over. Riding him with sharp snaps of slim hips back and forth. Hiding countless little noises in the space between their lips; each one a new and exciting delight to Ethos. 

_It’s a good thing we’re both short,_ his brain wandered in a haze of enjoyment as he felt the way the tips of his curls brushed back and forth against the ceiling with Deimos’ every motion.

Freed of the bulk of the physical effort, Ethos let his hands wander, too. He slid them over places they’d already begun to know and traversed novel ground, tracing lines along the fighter’s body. Discovering previously unseen wilderness that had been right in front of him for so many months now, just waiting for him to figure it out and get with the program.

 _Well, I’m with it now,_ he thought, barely able to contain his excitement over the magnitude of his discovery, _Better late than never._

He let one hand come to rest over a hip in motion, feeling it work and urging it on. The other he brought between their bodies, in what little space was left. He clasped it around Deimos again and got a broken-off cry of ecstasy. Pumping his hand, Ethos tried to match the rhythm set by the other man. He watched desire flicker over the half-obscured face just inches from his own, a dark curtain of hair swaying, parting. Like free-hanging blinds blowing gently in the night breeze, letting pale glimpses of moonlight through. 

“Deimos—“ he started, interrupted by his own gasp of pleasure when the other man changed his motion, circling his hips in a slow grind, “Deimos, you’re so beautiful.”

The object of his affections scoffed quietly, dropping his head and letting the curtain dividing them fall lower, obscuring even his mouth. Whether from embarrassment, disbelief, or just the fact that he had pushed too far, too fast, the navigator wasn’t certain. But the renewed tension in the other man’s body as he began snapping his hips hard and fast again was not what he had intended. 

He took his hand from Deimos’ cock and slowly, deliberately brought it up to the fighter’s face. He stroked along a sharply-defined jaw and cupped a cute little chin, coaxing it upwards. When he could see kiss-swollen lips again, Ethos leaned in, letting their foreheads brush. 

“So beautiful,” he repeated, closing the remaining distance between their mouths and placing a soft kiss over Deimos’ unreadable mask. 

Deimos kissed him back. 

Once, then again. And again, their mouths moving against each other for longer each time. 

Ethos let his other hand travel up to that same familiar spot between angular shoulder blades and it was like he’d flipped a switch. Deimos practically melted into him.

It was such a different side to the fighter. Softer and less tense than he’d ever seen the other man. Though Ethos had the distinct impression that the colonist would have no difficulty snapping back into alert readiness in a split second if required. 

“Ohhh!” he moaned, distracted, “Deimos, yeah, like that. Mmmm.”

The way Deimos moved was hypnotic. The rhythmic canting of his hips in Ethos’ lap matched only by the slide and press of his lips in sheer distracting power.

_So good._

Or maybe by the hint of sharp little teeth teasing in between the kisses. Or the way strong, slim fingers explored his hair; clutching at the curls around the nape of his neck. Every time Ethos noticed something new, it was more fascinating and delightful than the last. 

“Nnh!”

_Okay, that’s definitely the most fascinating._

Ethos tried to quiet his own faster breaths and gasps of pleasure to listen to the noises coming from the man riding him. 

“Ahhh!”

“Yeah, keep going,” he replied, not that a reply was necessary, “Here, let me…”

He tensed his stomach muscles and rolled his hips up in counterpoint to Deimos’ movements. 

“ _Ahhhnnn!_ ”

“Oh yes… wow,” Ethos huffed, letting his forehead fall onto Deimos’ bony shoulder, “That feels amazing.” 

As they moved together, Ethos could feel Deimos’ cock poke against him, leaving sticky streaks in its wake. He braced more with his hand on the bed and took the other from its place between Deimos’ shoulders. He could have sworn he almost heard a whimper when he broke contact. 

He definitely heard one when he placed the same hand over the leaking head of the other man’s erection. 

Ethos rolled his palm over it, slick and hot and throbbing. Deimos’ hips stuttered and lost their rhythm. He kept thrusting up into the fighter, spurred on as much by the tight squeeze of him as the little gasps he was letting out. 

“Is this good?” asked Ethos, already pretty certain of the answer. 

An uncoordinated nod of confirmation was all he needed. He felt dark strands of bouncing hair tickle his nose as they kissed again, long and deep. Lips moving langourously compared to the sharp, short thrusts Ethos made. His abs burned with exertion, but he hardly noticed that or the soreness in his bandaged hand as it pushed into the bed.

It wasn’t long before Deimos joined him again, resuming the motion of his hips, matching his pace. 

Then exceeding it. Just a little. Just enough to make Ethos speed to join him. They traded back and forth like that, slowly working themselves faster in an incremental way. Ramping up the energy between them. 

Even their kisses were affected eventually. Getting faster, sloppier. More a rough approximation of the intended actions than anything. 

Spit slick lips, hot breaths, tongues dragging, and teeth bumping. 

Ethos brought his hand from the mattress around to grasp Deimos’ shoulders, bracing against his body instead. He couldn’t move as much, but it felt even more intense like that. The way they worked against each other, counterbalancing each other’s motions. 

Deimos gripped him tightly, chest to chest, both of them breathing heavy. Held in place together, only their pelvises rocking.

They didn’t even need to move much; those few inches already driving Ethos closer and closer to completion. 

_Fuck. Just need to hold off a little longer._

Thankfully, Deimos seemed to be in a similarly undone state. Where before he had been enthusiastically diving into Ethos’ mouth tongue-first, now he was panting ragged against his lips, his cheeks, his ear. 

“Ahh, Deimos…” 

A tiny moan in response. A clenching around him that made it even harder to find the words. 

“Deimos I— I don’t think I can last much longer,” he managed, “…too good. You feel too good.” As he said it, he began to work his hand over Deimos’ cock with renewed fervour. 

Deimos whined one last time into his mouth, and then the fighter buried his face into the hollow where his neck and shoulder joined 

He mourned the loss of Deimos’ lips sliding messy and uncoordinated against his as they began ascending the final peak. But he had to admit that the feeling of the other man’s delicate features pressing into the side of his neck was nice, too. Especially the way it let every pant and whimper—no matter how quiet—travel the miniscule distance to his ear without being lost to the background noise of the ship. 

Ethos rode the edge of his orgasm as if it were one of Deimos’ knives. Careful, trying to avoid coming within range, but also wanting so badly to get closer and see what happened. What the intimidating little fighter would do. 

It didn’t take long to find out. 

With a small whine in his ear, he felt liquid heat spatter his hand and stomach. The accompanying series of spasms dragged his climax out of him with a groan loud enough to drown out the noises from Deimos which he so desperately wanted to capture. But in the moment, coming hard enough to blur his vision, Ethos couldn’t regret not hearing all of them. With any luck he’d get to hear them again. 

He fell back against the threadbare mattress and Deimos collapsed on top of him. Both of them still clutched at each other as if they didn’t want to let go. As their breathing levelled out, Ethos expected Deimos to pull away. He lay in silence and waited.

Even having prepared himself for it, his heart sank as the other man rolled off of him.

Pale eyes met his for a brief moment before Deimos slid down the mattress to lie alongside him. The fighter found a comfortable position between his arm and body, head of dark hair coming to rest on his chest. Ethos felt more than heard a soft, contented sigh.

He shifted slightly, bringing his other arm over to cradle Deimos’ surprisingly relaxed form. He stroked his fingertips back and forth over skin tacky with drying sweat, listening to the low hum of the ship. The sound was unchanged; it was strange, considering everything else on board seemed to have drastically shifted in the past few hours. 

_If I went back in time and told myself about all this over breakfast this morning, I wouldn’t believe myself_ , thought Ethos as he dropped his chin to place a kiss in Deimos’ hair. 

If a mutiny was all it took to make this happen, he’d join one again in a heartbeat. 

END

**Author's Note:**

> Although I'm not there as often as I used to be, you can still find me on [my tumblr](https://goodyeartheshippycat.tumblr.com/) and are always welcome to drop me a line or an anon regarding anything I've written.


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